


fight the break of dawn

by chasingforeverandaday



Series: forest love, forest lass [6]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arya realizes that a little late, Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Gendry hasn't slept in days, Panic Attacks, Pillow Talk, and really shouldn't fight in his condition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23168401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingforeverandaday/pseuds/chasingforeverandaday
Summary: In the hours before the fight to save the world from death, Arya Stark should really be sleeping in her own bed, warm and alone. But lying in the arms of her blacksmith, there is no place she'd rather be than with him. If only she could convince the man that falling asleep would be for his own good.Gendry may be exhausted from weeks of hard work and little sleep, but he's not going to waste a moment with the woman who's captivated him from the moment she stepped back into his forge. Little details like his inability to hold a sword later be damned.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: forest love, forest lass [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1353406
Comments: 19
Kudos: 114





	fight the break of dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Weltverbessererin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weltverbessererin/gifts).



> From welt-verbessererin's prompt on tumblr: Gendry is too exhausted from days/ weeks of forging weapons to fight in the battle so he is told to go to the crypts...
> 
> So this got away from me, but it was fun to go back into canon and play. I'm happy with how this turned out, and thankful I had a fun way to spend my time between loads of laundry. Thanks Laura!
> 
> (Also the title is from "Save Tonight" because I do love my song lyrics)

Staring at the far wall of the grain store, Arya listened to the distant sounds of the last night in Winterfell. The muffled music and shouting of those drinking away their pain; the laughing and crying of children too young to understand the odds of the coming fight; the moans and groans of lovers desperate for one last time together.

But mostly she focused on Gendry’s heavy breathing next to her on the sacks, unchanged since they’d rolled apart moments ago. Instead of passing out immediately, as she’d always heard men were wont to do after sex, he shifted closer and curled his body around hers, unarguably awake. When his hands began to wander once more, she grinned to herself before remembering the tiredness that had been warring with the desire in his eyes earlier. “You should be sleeping.” 

“Why would I be doing that, when I have you right here next to me?” Gendry nuzzled his nose against the nape of her neck, squeezing his arms tighter around her waist. She leaned into the touch, arching her back so her skin pressed against his. His arousal was quickly making itself known behind her as he began to kiss and suck his way along her neck, moaning as she ground her arse into him. Wrapped up in his embrace, she wanted to give in to the heat coiling in her belly once more, wanted to let herself fall back into his arms until nothing else mattered. 

But she couldn’t. He couldn’t afford her to. 

“Gendry, you haven’t slept more than a few hours since you arrived in Winterfell.” Turning in his arms, she lightly pushed his head away from hers and let the cool night air leech the warmth from between them. At his sad frown, she couldn’t help one more quick, simple kiss before she moved back again. “You need to rest, you have to be alert when the dead arrive.”

“How the hell would you know that?” He looked confused for a second and then annoyed, then almost angry. “Have you been spying on me?”

“Of course I have,” she rolled her eyes at the pouting now crossing his face, “how else was I supposed to make sure you were eating and sleeping?”

He raised an eyebrow. “By talking to me?” 

“You were a bit busy forging weapons the last few weeks now, weren’t you?” She sighed, not wanting to fight but knowing she needed to say things he may not want to hear, especially since he seemed so determined to have her again. Not that she’d have complained under other circumstances. “You’re exhausted from all the labor, don’t hide it from me. I know how you lie.”

“Seems you know everything and I’m still a stupid blacksmith who knows nothing, is that how it is?” He released a loud huff as he collapsed down onto the sacking, no longer hovering over her.

Sensing that she’d riled him up in a decidedly not fun way, Arya bit her lip before settling herself back into his chest, head tucked securely into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, but please Gendry, sleep. You’re the one who said the coming dead were like nothing I’d ever seen before. We need to take all the respite we can in the hours we have left.”

“Maybe,” he said, “maybe.” Their eyes met, and Arya’s breath caught in her throat as she found the raw passion in his heated gaze. “But I believe you’re the one who said we were probably going to die, so maybe I want to enjoy my last few hours in this miserable world doing something worthwhile.”

Softening, she leans up to kiss him firmly on the lips. “I’ve changed my mind.” When a lusty look enters his eyes, she quickly covers his mouth with a hand. “You’re not allowed to die, I won’t let you.” Tucking her head under his chin, she feels him sigh before the strongest arms she knows fold her into his warm chest.

“As my lady commands.”

Half laugh, half yawn, the sound that escapes her is truly mortifying. “Don’t call me that.” 

A tired smirk crosses his face before sleep takes him, mumbling, “Yes, love,” into her hair. She snuggles closer, letting his steady breath lull her into the darkness.

* * *

When the bells ring out over the snowy grounds of Winterfell, Arya wakes. She is curled up with her head resting on her lover’s shoulder, a hand pressed over his steady beating heart. Breathing in his ever present scent of fire and ash, she sighs and kisses his chest once more before finally pushing herself up and looking for her clothing.

No words are said in the eerie silence, only the rustling of clothes and the growing sounds of a castle coming to life. It takes her a moment to realize there are no sounds of dressing from the other side of their makeshift bed, only the light snores that had been her lullaby. Pausing from lacing her boots, she reaches over to rouse him gently, trying to coax him back to awareness.

“Gendry, please, we need to go.” Still he snores on, though his hand bats hers away in his slumber. She shakes him harder, only getting a grunt in response. Slightly panicked now, she climbs over him, letting her weight drop onto his torso as she takes his face in her hands. “Gendry, wake up!”

Bleary blue eyes finally open, though they show little awareness. His hands slowly come up to grasp her waist, an exhausted mirror to their position hours ago. “...Arya?” he asks her, looking up with a confused smile.

“Yes, it’s Arya.” As his tired eyes track her movements to get off of him, her heart tightens in fear. There’s no way she can let him fight in this state. No matter his insistence on being a fighter, she’d be sending him to certain death. And that is a fate she cannot fathom for her blacksmith. “Gendry, I need you to get up, and get dressed. You need to get to the crypts before the dead breach the walls.”

“Not going to the crypts, ‘m supposed to be on the front line,” he tells her, struggling to right himself as she finds his clothes. 

Placing herself in front of him, she helps him back into his shirt and pants, nearly falling into hysterics when he can barely keep his head up enough for her to get it through the collar. His forehead rests against her stomach as she bites back tears and strokes his shaved head, so painfully aware that this may be the last time she sees him, wobbly and affectionate but in no way capable of fighting.

“Gendry please, I need you to go to the crypts.” Kneeling in front of him, she tries to put every bit of her fear into her eyes, locked on his. “Please, don’t make me fight knowing you’re out there like this.”

Her stubborn, stupid, brave bull looks down, jaw set even as his hands shake when they reach for and hold hers. “Arya, I have to fight.” 

And she’s crying now, feeling like the girl who desperately tried to save her father in King’s Landing so long ago; like the girl who was terrified in the pens of Harrenhal, watching her only friend be sentenced to death by a madman with a rat; like the girl who was held back as her best friend, the only person she could call family was ripped from her hands and sold for a bag of gold, going somewhere she could not follow. Leaving her all alone. 

She feels all the helplessness she thought she’d burned out of her body come roaring back with a vengeance as she watches him wrestle with his honor and that damn promise he gave Jon to fight with him. She doesn’t care if he breaks it, if only he will be alive to repent in the morning. The sobs wrenching their way out of her steal her breath, her lungs aching. She barely knows what she is saying, only knows she will say anything to keep him safe. 

“Gendry, please,” her voice is hoarse, no more than a painful whisper as she begs him. “Please, don’t make me lose you too. I’m not strong enough to survive it.”

His head drops, the weight of it all coming down on them both. Pulling her up and into his lap, his arms come around her shaking body as he rubs along her spine with one hand, stroking her hair with the other. He nods, not putting his acquiescence into words, but placing a soft kiss to her lips as he continues to calm down her demons.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows it’s a miracle no one has come looking for either of them yet, but she cannot bring herself to part from him until she absolutely must. In the end, he is the one to stand, setting her back on her feet lightly. They dress silently, no more arguments or heartfelt words spoken as they strap on belts and layers against the cold.

Ready to leave this little haven they’ve created against the outside world, he catches her hand and reels her in one last time. Enfolded in his arms, she feels safe. Looking up at him, she closes her eyes to force back the tears and rests her forehead against his. Into the air between them, he asks, “Promise me you’ll find me after.”

Part of her wants to remind him she may not make it through the fight, but she cannot bring herself to ruin this final moment together. Cupping his cheek, she kisses him fiercely, pouring every ounce on the emotions she will not name aloud into the way she’s holding him close, trying to brand him into her soul. Breathing heavy, they break apart but open their eyes so icy gray meets smoldering blue. 

“As you wish.”


End file.
